


to yield

by untouchableocean



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Choking, M/M, No actual vomit, blowjobs (sort of), post monza 2019, rough stuff, tw for almost vomiting? it's not much but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 14:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchableocean/pseuds/untouchableocean
Summary: “You were a little shit today, you know that?” Charles swallows but doesn’t respond. “You only got away with that because we’re in your precious Monza.”





	to yield

**Author's Note:**

> i keep getting sudden bursts of inspiration for things like this. (i am working on the final chapter of omtsy, i promise.) enjoy :P

Charles yelps when Max crowds him against the wall, trapping him against the cold concrete with his arm. He makes the noise not out of surprise or fear, only as acknowledgement of Max’s action, telling him _yes, yes, I know you’re there, now where are you going with this?_ He’s not in the mood to play games.

“You were a little shit today, you know that?” Charles swallows but doesn’t respond. “You only got away with that because we’re in your precious Monza.”

“I’m not taking shit from you today.” Max blinks. “I won. I won _again_. I’m catching up to you, _Verstappen_.”

He spits the last word like it’s poison on his tongue, and Max presses his arm further into Charles’ neck, crushing his airways a little more.

“You’ve won twice, don’t get too big for your boots just yet. You’ve still got a lot to learn.”

Max punctuates his sentence by sticking his thigh between Charles’ legs and starting to move it against Charles’ crotch, and Charles tries his best not to get aroused but he can’t fight his body. He can, however, fight Max’s temper, use it to his advantage, gain the upper hand.

He keeps staring at Max, the only change in his expression an uncontrollable blush blooming on his cheeks. Max blinks, seemingly thinking Charles would be a whimpering mess already, and Charles feels pride explode in his chest. _I did it, I surprised him, he wasn’t expecting that._

“I’m not taking shit from you,” he repeats, more confident now. He won’t dance his dance, not today. “You couldn’t even make it into the top five.”

Max’s expression hardens and his grinding becomes rougher, harsher, and Charles bites back a moan. The only sounds are their harsh breaths and the scratch of denim on denim. Max smiles cruelly and suddenly twists Charles around, slamming him against the wall, trapping him further.

Charles can’t help but yell in shock as his face hits the wall, and he’s suddenly aware of Max pressing his whole body up against his back, his breath hot on his neck. He tries to turn to face him but Max grabs his hair and shoves his cheek into the wall so hard he’s sure it’ll leave marks.

“So you want to be tough, huh?” Max hooks his fingers in Charles’ mouth, gripping his jaw and pressing his tongue down. “You want to play rough?”

He bites Charles’ collarbone and Charles cries out, realising maybe he pushed it a little further than he was able to. Max pops open Charles’ jeans and palms him though the boxers as he pushes his fingers further into his throat, only pulling out when Charles sounds like he‘s literally about to be sick.

Charles successfully suppresses the urge to vomit and closes his eyes, hating himself for allowing tears to fall. Max pulls his jeans and boxers down without ceremony before moving his hand to Charles’ neck and holding him there, letting him know exactly who’s in charge here, if the borderline throat fuck hadn’t told him already.

Charles moans when he feels Max press against his ass, Max‘s fully clothed hard-on seeming like the only thing in the world right now. He tries to keep control but when Max tugs at him a couple of times he gives in, sags against him, allowing Max full use of his body.

“You want to be fucked?”

Charles nods, hating how eager he must seem, panting and letting his lips fall open so he can breathe easier. Max’s hand on his throat is still uncomfortably constricting his airways, and his breathing almost stops entirely when Max abruptly lets go.

“Too bad.”

Max spins Charles back round to face him and pulls his clothes back up, leaving him gasping at the friction. Max grabs his shoulder and shoves him down onto his knees, and Charles thinks _oh great, he just wants a blowjob, just my luck,_ so he opens his mouth and waits. Max pulls his cock out and Charles leans forwards to start sucking but Max grabs his hair and tilts his head up sharply.

“Did I say you could have a taste?”

He lets go of Charles before moving his hand to caress his jaw, rubbing his thumb over his lips and scratching lightly at the skin. Charles braces himself, knowing what’s coming, and he’s proven right when Max pulls his hand back and slaps him painfully on the cheek.

Even though he was expecting it he still gasps, and Max grabs his cheeks between his fingers, forcing him to look up at him again. Max’s eyes are swirling, drunk with power, and Charles relinquishes the last of his self-control.

To yield is his nature everywhere but on track, and he knows that’s why he’s sacrificed so much for the racing, craves it so much; the car is only thing he can dominate, control, _own._

Max smiles lopsidedly and Charles suddenly worries that he can read his thoughts. Not that Max doesn’t know any of that anyway, it’s probably why he chose him out of everyone on the grid. He knows he’s easy. He almost wants to stop letting him do this, have some fucking self-respect, but what would be the point of that?

Charles whimpers and it seems to bring Max out of his own short spiral, and he opens Charles’ mouth and pushes into him in one quick thrust. Charles is expecting him to start rocking his hips, fucking into his mouth and letting them both get what they need but he stays still, pushing Charles against his crotch, his nose brushing against the coarse hair of Max’s pubes.

Charles looks up at Max, desperately willing him to move, get it over with, but Max just looks down fairly indifferently at the whole scene. Charles tries to move back but Max’s grip is too strong and he’s stuck there, breathing sharply though his nose, his jaw starting to ache from being stuck open. The tip of Max’s cock sits at the back of his throat, threatening to cut off his air completely, and his eyes start to widen as Max shows no signs of letting go.

Charles’ eyes blur with tears and through the haze he can see Max smile, and he hums to try and get Max to move. All he wants is for Max to hurry up and fuck his mouth already, and by the look on Max’s face, he knows it. Without warning he pushes Charles backwards, letting his cock fall ungraciously out of his mouth, leaving him feel weirdly empty.

Charles coughs and wipes away the spit that’s collected on his lips and chin. He leans back against the wall and looks up at Max, blinking in confusion as he tucks his cock back into his trousers and smooths his shirt down as best he can. Max’s cheeks are flushed as he looks down but his expression is blank, and Charles almost flinches at the sharpness in his eyes.

“I’m going to go and get myself off in the bathroom. If you want to play rough, go fuck Lewis or something.”

He ruffles Charles’ hair before walking off, and Charles is so busy trying to work out what the fuck just happened he doesn’t run to follow him. He looks down at his damp crotch, still hard and aching, and he wonders what Max was trying to tell him with that little display. He doesn’t really care. He shakes his head, tidies himself up, and wanders towards the Mercedes motorhome.


End file.
